Chapter 58 – Azaria
AZARIA
The air was warm tonight. Summer was slipping away, but the heat still lingered, soft and golden, clinging to the stones beneath my feet. I liked the warm months better than the cold ones. Always had.
“How did you manage to convince Quin to leave you alone tonight?” Dain’s voice came from behind me as he stepped out into the garden. “The man practically never leaves your bed these days.”
I snorted. “I told him I wanted to spend some time with my best friend. He didn’t stop me.”
Dain eyed me for a moment. “I’m glad, Az.” His tone softened. “Quin’s changed a lot. And you two look good together. I’m glad he makes you happy.”
“He does,” I admitted. “I feel good, Dain. Like I can finally breathe again.”
He smiled—a rare, honest thing. “Good.”
I drifted toward the small canopy of wildflowers along the garden fence, rolling out my shoulders. Dain’s garden wasn’t much, but the place itself was perfect for what I needed tonight. Private and still.
“It’s a bright night, but that won’t be a problem,” Dain murmured, glancing up at the sky. He stepped closer. “Are you ready?”
I nodded.
“You sure you don’t want Quin here?” he offered. “He could step into the Undercurrent too. Pull you out if you needed.”
I considered it. “You remember what the Darkness told me last time.” My throat tightened. There were truths I still couldn’t speak—not without risking everything. Dain, as always, understood. He just nodded.
“Quin doesn’t have a clue. And I don’t want him worrying, or asking the kind of questions that could put both of us in danger,” I finished quietly.
“I understand.” He folded his arms. “How do you want to do this?”
I drew in a slow breath. “Let’s see if Darkness still listens to me.”
Dain stepped back.
I reached out my hand. “Hey, Biscuit. I want to visit the Undercurrent. Can you help?”
I didn’t have to wait long. A wisp of shadow curled gently around my wrist, cool and feather-light. I smiled despite myself.
“Hi, Biscuit. Did you miss me?”
Biscuit pulsed—a soft, gentle thrum.
“I’d like to speak with the Darkness. Can you help me step through?”
Another pulse, firmer this time.
“Three minutes, Az,” Dain said, voice calm but attentive. “If you’re not back by then, I’m coming in to pull you out.”
I nodded. Three minutes were enough to get answers, but not enough to get lost.
I glanced at him once, then let my gaze slip away. I pictured the thin, silvered veil at the edge of sight, and brushed it aside with a thought.
The world wavered. I let go.
The in-between was always stranger at night.
Darkness wasn’t just a void here—it was a living thing.
The world around me was sketched in faint white lines, as if the garden, Dain’s little house, even the city beyond, had been drawn in chalk against black stone.
Shapes of buildings loomed out of the gloom, and the echo of footsteps—mine, Dain’s, long faded—tapped through the emptiness.
Here and there, shadows shifted, observing but never intruding.
As soon as I stepped fully into the Undercurrent, the Darkness greeted me—not as a threat, but as a gentle presence encircling my shoulders. It brushed around me in a slow, spiraling embrace.
I breathed in, letting my heartbeat settle. “Hi. I’ve come back. I have three minutes.”
The Darkness pulsed around me—a thrum beneath my skin. Yes.
“Do you know what I’ve done?” I didn’t need to explain. The images were already there—blood, moonlit stone, the cold weight of vengeance. I felt the Darkness wrap tighter, not unkind, but solid.
A pulse. Yes.
“Did shedding blood bring me closer to you? Strengthen our bond?”
A steady pulse. Yes.
I let out a shaky breath. Something in my chest trembled at that, even though I’d expected it. Shedding blood, even for the right reasons, always changed a person.
“Am I a danger to my family and friends?”
Silence. I waited, holding my breath. Still silence. The tension in my ribs loosened. I let a beat pass, gathering my thoughts. There was something else—something Quinton had said weeks ago that I hadn’t been able to let go of.
“Quin believes the Undercurrent and the Abyss are kin. That they share an origin. Is that true?”
A pulse—immediate and strong. Yes.
My stomach dropped. “Did the Abyss come from the Undercurrent?”
Another pulse, certain and clear. Yes.
My breath caught. The Abyss wasn’t some outside poison. It was born here, from the same night that now held me so gently. Corruption from within, not invasion from without.
I swallowed, letting the weight of that settle. “Can you reabsorb it? Take it back?”
A long, wavering silence. Then, a faint, uncertain pulse. Maybe.
“If I use my light to guide you—can we do it together? Can I wield both?”
The air thickened, shadows coiling closer. Then, pulse. Yes. Rare. Dangerous. But possible.
I pressed into the heart of my fear. “Can I summon you fully into the waking world? Outside the Undercurrent?”
A beat of nothing. Then the Darkness surged, pulse crashing through me so strong it almost hurt. Shadows pressed in, close and cold. Warning. Danger.
“Will it destroy me?”
A harsh, immediate pulse. Yes.
“And others?”
Stronger still. Yes.
I staggered. The warning was clear. Not here, not now. I steadied myself, drawing Biscuit closer with a thought. It twined around my wrist, pulsing softly.
The weight of everything pressed in around me. I steadied my breathing, fingers curling as Biscuit tightened, sensing my unease.
“One more thing,” I said quietly. “Something I need to know.”
The Darkness waited. It always did.
“Dain had a vision. He saw an abyssal cloud coming for me. Enveloping me.”
The shadows around me stilled.
“Did he see my death?”
For a long moment, there was nothing. No pulse. No reassurance. Just silence stretching thin, taut as a wire. My chest tightened. I almost told myself that silence was an answer in itself—that it meant no, that I was reading too much into it. Then—slowly—so slowly it felt deliberate?—
The Darkness pulsed.
Once.
Yes.
The answer hit harder than any blade. My breath left me in a shaky rush, and for a heartbeat I thought I might fall.
I’d known. Some part of me had always known I was going to die. But hearing it confirmed, knowing that this was the moment Dain had seen, the cloud wrapping around me, devouring me—made it real in a way I hadn’t been ready for.
The shadows surged closer, holding me upright when my knees threatened to give. I forced myself to breathe.
“So that’s coming,” I whispered. “Not yet. But it will.”
The Darkness did not deny it.
I closed my eyes, gathering myself. If that was the future, then I would meet it on my feet.
One last question. The one that mattered most.
“When that moment comes,” I asked softly, voice steady despite the chill in my bones, “will you come to my aid when I call?”
Silence.
My heart pounded. I waited, counting the seconds, aware of time slipping away. Of Dain standing guard in the garden above. Of the thinness of the veil. Then—gentle, unmistakable?—
A pulse.
Yes.
Something in my chest cracked open—the raw, shaking relief of knowing I wouldn’t face the end alone. I exhaled, long and unsteady, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The shadows loosened their hold, receding with quiet grace. Biscuit gave one last reassuring thrum before the world dissolved, chalk lines fading, night giving way to warm air and lamplight.
I came back to myself with the scent of earth and wildflowers, the world bright and almost too sharp. Dain’s hands were on my shoulders, steady as ever.
“You good?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.
I managed a tired, crooked smile. “I’m fine. Little dizzy, but it’s fading.”
He waited, letting me find my words.
“The Abyss didn’t come from outside,” I said. “It came from the Undercurrent. It wasn’t an invasion but a corruption—something that twisted inside this place.”
Dain’s brows knitted. “From here?”
“The Darkness thinks it can reabsorb it. But it’s not simple, Dain. It warned me. Whatever the way is, it’ll be dangerous.”
His jaw tightened, but he just nodded. “Possible’s enough for now. We’ll take dangerous over impossible any day.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “That’s what I thought.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “You did good, Az.”
I nodded, swallowing the words I couldn’t say. That the Darkness had confirmed what the abyssal cloud in his vision really was.
My death.
Not someday, not maybe. That specific moment—the cloud wrapping around me—was the end.
But I couldn’t tell him that. He’d already seen it once, and it had shaken him. Knowing it was certain would break something in him I wasn’t ready to break.
So I kept it to myself. Let him believe we still had time to change it.